


red ink

by orphan_account



Series: drabbles [15]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Delinquent Keith (Voltron), Fluff, High School, M/M, Pining Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:54:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: (lance loses a pet lizard and keith is knocking on his window).





	red ink

**Author's Note:**

> delinquent au, amiright?

Lance stares at the glass cage filled with rocks and plastic plants and a small stream of water.

“It’s been two days, Hunk, if he was in the house we’d have known by now,” Lance says, readjusting the phone on his ear. Hunk makes a consoling sound at that, something between a whine and a hum.

“Wanna come over tomorrow and make some fliers?” Hunk says after a small pause, his words are soft and sympathetic.

Lance breathes out and looks away from the cage with a frown. He nods to himself and tells Hunk he’ll meet him at ten.

“We’ll find him, buddy,” Hunk reassures, and Lance knows if he was here, he’d have given him the warmest hug in the world; Lance kind of wishes for that hug right now, it would’ve killed the churning feeling inside his stomach, sticky and thick and bitter.

“Yeah, I hope so—”

There’s a faint click on Lance’s window, and then another.

Lance groans with feelings.

“Hold up, Hunk, our neighbor’s kid is being a dick again,” he says, annoyed, and starts to walk towards his window.

“The short one? With the missing tooth?”

“Yeah.”

“At this hour?”

“He’s an ass, Hunk, asses don’t sleep at night, apparently.”

“What’s his deal? This’ll be, what? The fifth time he’s done that?”

“Yeah, but this time I’m prepared,” Lance says, smiling malevolently even though Hunk can’t see him. He looks down at the three huge water balloons ready to hit that damn kid’s head and soak his stupid face.

“Prepared?” Hunk echoes; Lance catches a note of worry in his voice. “You know what? I don’t wanna know, just don’t end up in jail.”

“I’ll try,” Lance says as another rock hits his window, stronger this time.

Lance pick up one of the balloons and balances his phone between his cheek and shoulder. He waits for another rock to hit the glass to save himself from it hitting his face instead, and quickly lift up his window.

“Eric, you stupid little pickle!” Lance says, loud enough for the boy to hear him but not enough to wake his parents up, and he lifts the water balloon to throw it at—

No one, apparently. The place below his window is empty, which is unusual because Eric always waits for Lance to look outside so he can make an ugly, stupid expression with his ugly, stupid face and then run away.

“Hunk, I think the kid learned to be invisible,” he says, lowering the balloon and taking the phone in his hand.

Hunk says something to him, but Lance doesn’t really hear his words at the sound of another voice cutting through the chill of the late night air.

“Over here,” the voice says—foreign, yet painfully familiar.

Lance gradually, maybe even carefully, looks up. Looks up at the boy sitting on a branch of the tree near his window. His dark hair is ruffled a little from the cool wind, a mischievous silver glint in its strands from the moonlight. Keith smiles at him like one would smile to calm a startled child, and Lance only then realizes how wide his eyes had blown and how tensely his shoulder had hunched up.

“Hey,” Keith says, almost as a whisper—and Lance hates himself for the fluttering the low of Keith’s voice does to his chest.

“I’ll, uh,” Lance swallows, his mouth a little dry. “I’ll call you back,” he tells Hunk and hangs up without waiting for his reply; his eyes are glued to the darker ones, two orbs of playful mischief glinting back at him.

What the hell is going on right now?

“Um.” Lance places the phone on the windowsill and holds the balloon closer to his chest, a little defensively. He notices how Keith‘s gaze snaps at it and then back up into his eyes, a slow, amused smile curving the corners of his lips.

“Can I come in?” Keith asks, leaning a little closer to the edge of the branch—Lance fears for a brief second that it’ll snap and Keith will fall, but Keith stays right where he is, in front of Lance, sitting on the tree in his backyard, asking to come inside his  _ room. _

“Um,” Lance says again, or sighs, or just breathes out, dumbly and completely flabbergasted. Despite his brain not working properly, he manages a weak nod and takes a couple of steps back to let Keith climb in.

He does, unfairly graciously and easily, and Lance clenches his teeth and fights back the blush settling on his cheeks at the sight of pale skin when Keith’s hoodie rises up a little. Keith straightens with a sigh, standing closer than Lance is used to him being—he can smell the smoke of cigarettes lingering on his clothes, can see the baby strains of his hair curled at the base of his neck, just under his ear, can see the low glint of his earrings, can see the edges of his smile growing wider in almost a smug way, can see—

Lance stops  _ seeing  _ stuff and steps away before his skin burns to ashes.

He’s heard some rumors about Keith, everyone has, and Lance knows they are exaggerated and mostly not as close to the truth as people claim them to be, but he’s also witnessed how James’ nose became uneven and sloppy at places it didn’t use to be, so he figures keeping a distance wouldn’t hurt him.

Not that Keith has ever shown any kind of aggression towards Lance. No, in fact, it’s the complete opposite, and that’s the thing. That’s the fucking thing that drives Lance insane in the worst and best ways. Because even though Lance has been nothing but defensive around him—you can never be too careful—Keith has been nothing but. But  _ gentle  _ and  _ playful _ and sometimes  _ considerate  _ with him.

“You always greet people with water balloons?” Keith asks with that damn smirk that Lance finds hard to look away from, amused and soft at the edges.

Lance clears his throat, the shock of having Keith standing in his room slowly fades away.

“Well, people don’t always jump into my room from the window,” he says, proud how his voice comes out natural.

Keith only smiles wider at his words like he’s actually enjoying this and finds it entertaining. And maybe he does, Lance wouldn’t be surprised by that. He waits for Keith to speak again, tell him why he’s here and what the hell he wants from Lance, but Keith doesn’t even move, he just stands there and keeps—looking at him, and it burns Lance’s skin with a fire he’s not quite used to.

“What do you want, Keith?” Lance breaks the silence, crossing his arms.

“I brought you something.” Can he not look at Lance that way, it’s making so hard for him to focus on what’s Keith actually saying.

Lance’s disaster brain finally snaps back into its normal self at the sight of familiar red scales.

“Drogon?”

Keith snorts but Lance ignores him and stares at the beardie slowly peeping out from the pocket of Keith’s black hoodie. The icy worry inside Lance’s stomach dissolves immediately, replaced with relief and gratitude and something lighter than anything he’s felt for the past two days.

“No way! You found him?!” he exclaims blissfully, and steps closer to Keith so he can lift the lizard off of his hand. Lance’s mind is fuzzy from the thrill of  _ finally _ having Drogon back and from the thrill that it was  _ Keith _ who had brought him back, so when he yelps from happiness and leans in for a brief but sincere hug, he’s not really thinking that clearly.

“Thank you, thank you,  _ thank you!” _ he repeats, over and over, his arm tightening around Keith’s neck for a moment before letting him go. He vaguely feels the way Keith stills at first, and then he  _ definitely _ feels the gentleness of an arm wrapping around his lower back, a careful press that Lance wouldn’t mind getting used to.

He feels the lizard shuffle in his hand—trapped between the two of them—and Lance pulls away in fear of accidentally hurting the poor thing. Keith’s smile is infinitely wider when Lance looks back up, and his eyes—so dark and so deep and so goddamn addictive—shine with an added spark in them. And for a second, Lance kind of wants to freeze here and just look at Keith—this softer, gentle version of Keith.  

Drogon shuffles again and Lance turns his attention at him, stepping away from the small, barely there circle of Keith’s arm. Drogon blinks at him, tilting his head up and to the side. Lance lifts his hand and kisses his nose continuously, at the same time walking towards his cage.

“You—” he kisses him again “—stupid—” again “—little—” again “—shit! What the hell were you thinking?!” Lance tries to make his words sound scolding and angry, but the kisses and the huge, relieved smile doesn’t make him sound anything less than impossibly happy.

“You named him Drogon?” Keith asks, he sounds incredulous.

Lance carefully lowers the lizard in his cage, turning his face to beam at Keith; he’s still standing by the window, leaning against it with one hand placed on the windowsill, his sleeves are tucked up and Lance allows himself only half a second of luxury to trace the red, thin ink with his gaze, the tail of Keith’s dragon tattoo that Lance really,  _ really  _ wants to touch.

“No, actually, my niece did,” he says, locking eyes with Keith for only a brief moment until it turns into something overwhelming and impossible. He clears his throat before adding: “How’d you know he was missing anyway?”

“Shiro showed me your message,” Keith says, casually, nonchalantly, filling Lance’s lungs with guilt and something else that’s bitter and terrible. “I found him near the forest lying on a rock, he was enjoying the sun so much I almost didn’t want to bring him back,” Keith continues, he even chuckles at the end, that low and raspy sound that Lance hears so rarely and likes so much.

But Lance doesn’t focus on that, instead, he focuses on his next words that will, hopefully, erase the heavy guilt deep in his stomach, stinging his insides with poison.

“I’m—listen, Keith, I should’ve told you too,” Lance says, carefully and quietly, probing Keith’s face for the slightest of reaction; it’s still unnaturally nonchalant, and Lance has the abrupt urge to shrink into himself.

“It’s not a big deal, Lance—”

“No, it is,” Lance cuts in, determined to make Keith understand that he’s sorry, that what he did was simply disrespectful. “I mean, it would’ve been fine if I had only told Hunk and Pidge, but I told everyone and—and ignoring you wasn’t right.” He plucks the skin around his nails, almost starting to swing side to side on his feet because Keith’s just looking at him, and above all the guilt, Lance starts feeling awkward and a little embarrassed. With a cough, he adds to lighten the thick air around them: “I also don’t have your number, so—”

“Right, and social media doesn’t exist,” Keith says, a lick of bitterness slips in his calm demeanor and Lance nearly cringes, feeling even worse. Lance looks around his room, focusing on everything and anything for the sake of avoiding Keith’s eyes.

“I didn’t think you’d actually care, because—because…” Lance murmurs, as low as a whisper but he knows Keith hears him anyway, the room becoming suddenly much quieter than it was moments ago.

_ Why do you think we’ve never seen him interact with anyone but his brother before? Because he doesn’t even give a fuck. _

_ Oh, please, all he’s ever looking for is trouble. Don’t you remember how he got expelled? _

_ I heard he carries around a knife, my friend says he’s even seen him use it. _

“Because that’s what people say,” Keith finishes for him and Lance kind of wants to punch himself for the subtle drop of Keith’s face, the barely-there note of glum in his voice. And Lance wonders how much those rumors really affect him, if they make him sad, make him angry, guilty, lonely…

Lance ignores—whatever it is that fills him with a strange sense of protectiveness.

Lance notices the atmosphere turning blue, so he breathes in deeply and quickly, unexpectedly filled with a generous amount of courage, and takes a step closer to Keith before he loses his nerves altogether. Keith watches Lance as he grabs his phone from the ledge, and a small crease forms between his brows.

“Well, I should’ve known better than to believe what dumb people say, so—” Lance lifts the phone up and shakes it once as to gesture Keith to take it. Keith does so, the questioning look turning mischievous, promising nothing but trouble and Lance has the sudden urge to roll his eyes.

“Why are you handing me your phone, Lance?” he asks, you know, like an asshole.

“Don’t make me say it,” Lance deadpans, almost willing to rip his phone back from Keith’s hand and push him out of the window.

“I’m sorry, I have  _ no idea _ what you are trying to do,” Keith continues, his face oh so innocent.

Lance sighs, maybe the Gods are punishing him for not helping that one woman cross the road when he was in a hurry on Monday.

“Keith Kogane, would you mind giving me your phone number, so the next time I feel like telling you how big of an ass you are I can just call,” Lance says, trying to keep his face straight, but the burning heat in his cheeks probably make him look like a tomato, a very flustered and embarrassed tomato. Keith snorts, shaking his head with a small, incredulous smile on his face. He looks down and focuses on the phone as he types in his number, and Lance has a moment to breathe and  _ really _ look at him.

Keith’s hair is pulled up in a bun, but the shorter strands hang loosely over his neck, and his bangs are covering his eyes and most of his nose. Lance catches the gleam of his earrings, peeking from the dark strands hiding them—weirdly, he kind of wants to touch them. He wills his eyes to look away, and they linger at Keith’s lips, curved into a boyish smile that seems so open and sincere and—really fricking charming.

Lance blinks, shooing away his thoughts and tries to clear his mind, but it’s useless once his gaze finds the familiar red, so delicate and smooth and beautiful against the pale of Keith’s skin. Lance has never seen the full tattoo, only up until Keith’s biceps on those rare occasions when Keith wears a t-shirt, and not for the first time, Lance’s curiosity pops up again, asking questions like: how far up does it go? Does it continue on his back too? What’s the dragon’s face? How long would it take Lance to trace each of the red lines?

“Done.” Lance snaps his head up at the sound of Keith’s voice, instantly consumed by boiling embarrassment at the sight of Keith’s smug grin, the thought of being caught while  _ checking him out _ is almost enough to turn Lance into ashes.

“Thanks,” he manages, clearing his throat once when it nearly comes out as a helpless squeak. Keith hands him his phone back and Lance looks at the new contact and— 

“ _ Guy with a cool tattoo _ ?” Lance reads, giving Keith a blank look.

“Are you denying it?” Keith says, raising a brow; he’s got this knowing look on his face that makes Lance frown and mumble something incoherent to himself, sets his skin aflame for—who knows how many times this night.

“I’ll send you something so—”

“No need, I already have your number,” Keith cuts in, leaning away from the window. Lance is still taking in his words and the meaning behind them when Keith swings one leg out of the window and starts climbing out.

“Dude!” Lance exclaims, grabbing Keith’s arm hurriedly before he can escape. “At least use the front door!”

They tip-toe out of Lance’s room and down the stairs—the wood squeaks once and Lance prays no one is his house hears it. He carefully opens the door, making sure the click of it will be near soundless; he sighs with relief when Keith walks out of his house without another McClain running down the stairs.

“Bye, Lance,” Keith says, waving once before turning away and—

Lance notices something in his hair, something he hadn’t seen when Keith was typing in his number.

_ Maybe because you were too busy drooling at how— _

_ Shut! Up!  _ Lance screams at his mind, he really doesn’t need to be reminded of the disastrous effect Keith has on him.

“Keith, wait up,” he calls, taking a couple of steps out on the porch to reach him. Keith turns around, a curious  _ hmm _ cutting the cold air, but Lance thinks he hears the sound die in Keith’s throat as he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers in Keith’s hair.

It’s thick and a little rough, probably because Keith hasn’t conditioned his hair once in his life. It still feels nice, having the dark strands sliding between his fingers, and Lance cherishes every bit of this second—the surprise coloring Keith’s face, the stillness settling in his shoulders once Lance got too close to him, the way his eyes widen in an almost startling way.

Lance pulls the single piece of leaf free from the hair and twirls it in front of Keith’s face. “You had this,” Lance says.

“Oh.”

Keith still stands there, his gaze unmoving from Lance’s face. And maybe it was the unexpected proximity, or that Lance wishes for another leaf to be stuck in Keith’s hair just to touch it again, or that Keith hasn’t moved for almost ten seconds now and is still staring at Lance like he’s seeing him for the first time. Or maybe Lance still feels a little guilty from earlier and counts this as a much better and proper apology.

Or maybe it was the simple want of doing so.

Either way, Lance leans in and smacks a quick and chaste kiss on the skin of Keith’s cheek, his heart beating in his throat and his ears buzzing like static noise, and his face and lips burning like he’s drunk a cup of lava.

“Thank you, really, it means… a lot to me that you cared enough to bring him back,” Lance says as he leans back on his heels, linking his own fingers together just to occupy his hands with something. Keith blinks like he’s trying to snap out of a trance, and then he smiles at Lance so wholesomely and brightly and honestly it knocks the air straight out of his lungs.

Lance smiles back, the breeze cool against his burning face, and Lance feels his hair being ruffled by it but can’t be bothered to reach and correct it—he just wants to look at Keith until his eyes tire and start to sting.

Keith, however, quietly huffs a quiet laugh for himself and moves his hand up and closer to Lance’s face, freezing him into one place— _ maybe, it’s payback, _ Lance thinks before his mind blackouts and there’s nothing but the intensity of Keith’s fingertips against his forehead. Keith takes a long strand of his hair and brushes it away and, to Lance’s complete horror, tucks some behind his ear—and Lance thinks Keith lingers, thinks that Keith’s gentle touch on his cheekbone afterward isn’t a mistake or his imagination; he thinks the glint in Keith’s eyes are softer and brighter and infinitely more beautiful.

“See you soon, little sparkle,” Keith says, and it’s so unlike him, no trace of his usual playfulness and aloofness, just—it’s just tender and so warm Lance fears that his chest will explode and the tingling in his fingers will become painful and that he will never look Keith in the eye without melting into a puddle of emotions on the floor.

Lance somehow doesn’t trip on his way back up on the stairs and successfully plops in his chair, burying his face in his hands; he wants to scream, but it’s late at night and his mother will murder him. His cheeks are still hot and his heartbeat is still ruthless and he still can’t stop smiling like a complete fool.

Lance looks at the lizard. “What the fuck have you done,” he says, probably sounding dopey and disgustingly corny.

He still sends Keith a photo of Drogon and smiles when he replies almost immediately.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](https://yourfriendlyneighborsam.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/frendlysam) or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/friendlyneighborsam/) (i post tiny drabbles on ig)


End file.
